


Die Arrogant Piss Ant!

by WPAdmirer



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-21
Updated: 2011-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-15 20:32:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WPAdmirer/pseuds/WPAdmirer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malcolm's thoughts on a former commanding officer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Die Arrogant Piss Ant!

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Chapter Notes:  
> For everyone who's ever had an idiot for a boss, which is probably most of us. If you haven't, then you probably are the idiot boss. (smirk)

Archer never could quite get used to the idea of a drunk Malcolm Reed. Even though there was one sitting right in front him. Hard, empirical evidence at hand, it was still almost impossible for him to ever think of the man as being anything other than crisp, pressed, ramrod straight, and stiff-upper-lipped.

Could a person be stiff-upper-lipped? he thought. Not that it mattered, because tomorrow none of them would remember jackshit about anything said or done tonight. They'd killed a bottle of tequila earlier in the evening drinking margaritas which Trip swore were made from a secret recipe given to him by a bartender who was the direct descendant of the bartender who'd made margaritas for Ernest Hemingway back in his Key West days.

Now they were working their way through a really fine bottle of single malt which Malcolm claimed was made by Scottish monks.

Archer was pretty damn sure that neither story was true, and that they were simply trying to out-do each other in tall tales, but it was hard to know with these two. Trip would grin and you'd think he was pulling your leg and it'd turn out to be truer than true. Malcolm could deadpan with the best of them.

"To the best boss in the known universe!" said Trip suddenly raising his glass.

"Just the known universe?" Archer asked.

Malcolm snickered, which was a disconcerting thing from a man who could be incredibly, and sneakily, deadly.

"You have a comment on that, Mr. Reed?"

Malcolm snickered again and shook his head. "No, sir, Captain, sir." He saluted sloppily. "None whatsoever."

"Malcolm has come to appreciate your command style, Cap'n." Trip leaned over to elbow Malcolm and almost fell out of his chair.

Archer grabbed him on one side and Malcolm the other, and they righted him.

"Yes, indeed, I have, sir, Captain, sir. Aye!" Malcolm winked at Trip and they both giggled.

"All right, gentlemen, and I use the term very loosely," said Archer, "what the hell is so funny?"

Both men made an attempt to stop laughing and neither succeeded. They succumbed a giggling fit suitable to two thirteen year olds, which actually from time to time pretty much described their behavior when they were at play together. Archer realized that his thoughts were wandering. Again. He couldn't seem to quite stay on the subject. In fact, what was the subject? Oh, that's right, his command style. Malcolm had come to appreciate it, or so Trip claimed. Yeah, right. And he had a nice piece of property on the Xindi home world in the expanse that was perfect for a human colony.

"Cap'n, just the other day, we were talking about some of the, what was it you called them, Malcolm? Right bastards?"

Malcolm nodded sagely. "That's it."

"Yep, some of the right bastards he'd worked under before you."

"So you were comparing notes on bad bosses, huh?"

Trip reached for the bottle and poured a liberal quantity over his hand before getting some into his glass. Malcolm yelped and grabbed Trip's hand, licking the scotch off it. "For God's sake, Trip, don't waste it!"

Trip smiled and patted Malcolm's face. "Never, darlin'."

"You served under Commander Aaron Pissant?"

Malcolm and Trip dissolved into gales of uncontrolled laughter. Trip fell out of his chair, and Malcolm grabbed the bottle of scotch, saving it an ignoble death at Trip's clumsiness. Malcolm tipped the bottle up and drank the rest of the liquor, smacking his lips with satisfaction. "That's safe now."

"So Pissant wasn't much of a commander?"

Malcom squeaked. He was desperately trying not to laugh, but noise was escaping his tightly closed lips in little squeaks. Trip clearly found it endearing, for his face went soft and he smiled.

"Answers, Lt. Reed!"

Even in his drunken state, Malcolm's innate sense of military bearing responded. "Yes, sir, Captain, sir. Commander Arrogant Piss Ant was an idiot of unmatched degree. He'd have shot himself in the arse with a photon torpedo if he didn't have subordinates to prevent it happening, sir, Captain, sir."

"Arrogant Piss Ant?"

"Commander Arrogant Piss Ant," said Trip correcting him.

Archer smiled and finished off his glass of scotch. "So I'm a better officer than Commander Arrogant Piss Ant?"

Malcolm snorted. "One of Phlox's bloody slugs would make a better commander than Piss Ant. The man couldn't find his arse with both hands and written directions. Rumor was that even his poor wife had to call him Commander, sir! in bed. Though I have my doubts that even that would have provoked an erection in the limp-dicked bastard."

"Don't hold back, Malcolm," said Trip.

"He got his name added to the credits of my research on phase pistol design by having the cover of my report redesigned by his secretary putting his name before mine. He informed me that as my commanding officer it was only natural that he get partial credit for anything that I did. I should have dropped my bloody trousers and mooned an admiral and told him to put his bloody fucking name on that!"

"Tell 'em, darlin'!"

"Not only was he an impotent, balding, piece of shite, but he had the intellectual capacity of piece of space dust. He got promoted for the simple reason that he had his huge nose so far up an admiral's ass, that it would require surgery for removal on the death of the admiral to keep from having to bury them together. His father was a moron. His grandfather was a cretin. And Piss Ant didn't live up to the standards of either man."

"Let it out!"

"He had to demand respect because he was incapable of earning it. There was no danger of any improper fraternization with the man because no one could stand him. His own mother slapped his father the moment she saw him after his birth. Then she never spoke to either of them again."

"Bring it on home!"

"The only reason he didn't demand that we all kiss his ass and suck his cock is because his cock was so bloody small even he couldn't find it. He had to piss leaning against the wall with both hands, pointing his crotch in the general direction of the urinal and hope for the best, because his aim with his little bitty dick was as poor as his aim with a great big gun!"

Malcolm was panting. Trip handed Malcolm his glass. "Finish mine. You've earned it."

"Thank you, love." Malcolm drained the glass and handed it back to Trip.

"So...," said Archer. "I'm glad to know that I rank better than Commander Piss Ant.

"Sir, to be perfectly honest, dead men make better commanders than he did."

Archer grinned. "Well, at least I've got a big dick."

Trip nodded. "He does, you know."

Malcolm laughed, grabbed Trip's face in both his hands and kissed him soundly. "Yes, I can always depend on you to know the essentials, Trip."

Trip smiled and passed out.

Malcolm looked at Archer and grinned, then passed out as well.

Archer got up, unsteadily but vertical and headed towards his bed, all the while thinking it was just as well that none of them would remember this conversation in the morning.


End file.
